Crime and Punishment
by Josafeena
Summary: Sequel to Rising, The Resistance try to take Colorado and Marcus faces a trial of his own
1. Chapter 1

**Crime and Punishment**

**Summary**: Sequel to Rising, the Resistance try to take Colorado and Marcus faces a trial of his own

**Disclaimer**: Terminator Salvation, and the Terminator mythology do not belong to me. I make no profit from this paltry effort to let my favourite character live on.

**Author's Note**: Hopefully not as long and ponderous as Rising but plenty of Marcus!Whump to be had. Set one month after the events of Rising.

**Warning**: Much swearing and plenty of gruesome violence upon a particular Cyborg we all know and love

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Tell us what happened."

"Are you serious? I told you what happened. I've been shot. I need to get someone to look at this." Marcus pointed to the gaping wound in his right shoulder where metal servos were grinding loudly

"You can handle it." Connor grimaced. "Go over it once more."

Marcus lowered himself into the chair with a resigned sigh.

"We were heading out to wait for the pickup. I got my glove caught on a wire fence. The Paredo kid came over to help. When he saw my hand he freaked - starts screaming his head off. Sergeant Carcetti was on point, he turned to see what Paredo's screamin' about and this HK drone comes out of nowhere and pops him in the chest. Carcetti goes down still firing so the thing backs off. Paredo draws his weapon but instead of shooting the HK, he shoots me. The HK starts laying down heavy fire so I grab Paredo's gun off him and take it down. Then I hear the air support coming. I tried to help Carcetti but Paredo's still freaking out so I knock him out and signal to the Blackhawk to come pick us up."

Marcus glared at the panel of brass Connor had pulled him in front of. They were an assortment of military leftovers that had come to Connor looking for leadership. He tended to keep his distance from them, still wary of adverse reactions to what he was.

"He took another man's weapon." One of slightly crustier uniformed men comments to Connor.

"Yeah," Marcus agreed with a sneer, "The man who shot me."

The panel just looked at him.

"The team weren't briefed on his .... status?" Another one asked.

Connor scratched his forehead. "No, there wasn't time. We were working on too fine a deadline." Connor looked tired. He always looked tired these days. Only two months out from his heart surgery, his recovery wasn't easy given the time and energy that was required of the resistance leader, not to mention the fact that his wife wasn't there to look after him, as she was currently in Tijuana with their newborn son.

"Where was your own weapon?" Someone asked Marcus, and he recognised him as Colonel Perry, a man who was well-respected by Connor's people, for reasons Marcus had yet to discover. "Why did you have to use Corporal Paredo's firearm to take down the HK?"

"You mean aside from self-defence?" Marcus saw John grimace as his insolent tone, so he paused to replay the event again. "I was carrying a shotgun. I put it down when my glove got caught so I could pull it off."

They were looking at him sceptically now, as if he'd made it up on the spot.

"Who knows about him being a machine?" Another asked of Connor.

"Mostly members of command staff, we haven't kept it quiet but we haven't been broadcasting it either."

Marcus had managed to stay under the radar for long enough without drawing attention to either himself or his machine 'status', he had absolutely no desire for that situation to change.

"The men need to be able to trust their team-mates. They can't have surprises like that out in a combat situation." Perry commented evenly, looking Marcus up and down with a blank expression.

"That's fair." Connor nodded. He scratched his arm, rubbed the stubble on his jaw and took his time before levelling Marcus with that direct and focused gaze of his. "Marcus, I'm taking out off active duty for the moment. I'll reassign you to Barnes's team."

"Right, back to labour duties? Cleaning latrines, is it?" He stood, feeling his temper flairing but unable to do anything. "Am I being punished for defending myself? For not lying down and taking it like a good little machine?!"

"Marcus..." Connor's tone was a warning.

"You can take your combat duty and shove it." He tipped over the chair as he stormed out, ignoring the guards standing outside - he just kept walking.

They'd been nearly a month in Santa Fe and he was beginning to hate the place. The Santa Fe base was a shopping mall that had been decimated but miraculously the acres of underground parking had survived. Over the past few years the Resistance had transformed it into a labyrinthine base. With Connor's arrival a few weeks ago it had been flooded with the remaining military personnel and the majority of the high ranking Resistance members from around the country, all drawn to Connor messianic aura. Not long ago the military brass who'd questioned Marcus had bestowed Connor with honorary title of General and told him the Resistance was his to command. Marcus was stunned that they would give complete control to a man who would still be bedridden if it weren't for the daily doses of chemicals his wife had left him. But he'd had this argument with Blair already. Connor was going to win the war against Skynet, so they all believed, and though he hated to admit it, Marcus knew he shared some of that belief.

He would have marched until his temper cooled but when he found himself standing outside the cramped quarters he shared with Blair he was still fuming and his arm was beginning to go numb. Damn it, he needed to get that seen to.

He shuffled back in the direction of the infirmary.

The nurse on duty saw him and gasped.

"Jesus, you've been shot!"

He almost brought his hand up to the wound then cursed as he remembered he hadn't had a chance to replace the glove he'd lost.

The nurse told looking worriedly at his shoulder. "Let me see."

"It's alright it's not..."

Before he could stop she was poking at his shoulder and had seen metal.

She gasped, backing up. "You're that..."

"Yeah, I'm that guy." He batted her hand away, backing off. She was only a nurse, but he knew that anyone on this base was capable of pulling a weapon on him.

He leaned against a gurney feeling off balance with his left arm not working at all.

"Eh..." She shifted from foot to foot looking him over. "Is there...?" She chewed on her lips. "Is there someone I can get? Is there someone who can fix that?" She gestured broadly at his shoulder, keeping a safe distance from him.

He sighed. This was his life now. Military mistrusting him, nurses scared of him, Connor getting tired of him. Would have better for all concerned if he'd stayed dead. "There's a technician called Goodwin."

"Oh, the nice Scottish guy?" She beamed. "I'll get him up here right away." She hopped off, clearly delighted with herself for having found a way of dealing with Marcus.

He stayed to the rear of the infirmary, keen to stay out of people's way. There were people running back and forth at the other side of the room. He wondered if it was Carcetti they were trying to save or someone else. Once the Blackhawk had arrived at base he'd been whisked away to be debriefed by the leadership. The medical team has taken Carcetti and Paredo in the opposite direction.

He still couldn't believe how badly the mission had ended. It had been his first combat mission, and a key steps in Connor's campaign to take the base at Cheyenne Mountain. But Marcus knew it had also been a test of his abilities not simply in the field but also as Connor's secret weapon.

Goodwin arrived with bright smiles for the nurses and chuckles for anyone standing nearby. It surprised Marcus that he hadn't previously noticed how popular the Scottish technician was. Ever since his scan he'd kept his distance from the tech labs as much as possible. He had no desire to be poked and prodded like the latest piece of hardware, or to go through a painfully invasive probing like he had before.

"Well, hello." Goodwin greeted him with his thick Scottish burr. "What seems to be the trouble?" He plonked a toolkit down beside Marcus and pulled a wheelie stool over to the gurney.

"Can you fix this?" He made a vague gesture at his shoulder.

"Hmmm." Goodwin got up close to peer at this wound. He pulled out a pen and made to poke the edges when Marcus flinches away scowling at him.

"Why don't you take your top off and lie down so I can get a better look?" Goodwin asked patiently.

Marcus hesitated but eventually struggled out of his shirt and laid himself stiffly on the gurney.

Goodwin sat on the stool and wheeled himself closer. He rifled through his tool kit until he found what he wanted then proceeded to put on a headset with a light and magnifier. He also produced a thin metal pincers, which he used to slowly pick at the torn flesh.

Marcus hissed, flinching again and shifting away.

"Does it hurt?" There was a shade of disbelief in Goodwin's tone.

He was right of course - it didn't hurt but Marcus's programmed human reactions made him flinch from anticipated pain all the same. "Not really." He huffed, settled back down, steeling himself against the sensation which made his skin crawl.

"It just feels like it should." Goodwin supplied.

Marcus simply nodded. He wasn't sure why, but it bothered him that this man understood him better than he did.

"I'm going to have to cut open a flap of skin so I can access the servos. I'll get Nurse Betty over there to sort out a local anaesthetic."

"No, it's okay, just do."

"You're the man." Goodwin clucked his tongue and went ahead.

He was surprisingly gently as he slid the scalpel into Marcus's shoulder, slicing through synthetic flesh like perfectly tender meat. The sensation did sting and throb a little but Marcus bit his lip, breathing through his nose, trying not to think of it like that.

Once Goodwin had cut his square flap he used a clip to hold it back and then took up his pincers and began to tinker with the mechanics of Marcus's shoulder. As he worked he chatted amicably and Marcus found himself somewhat glad of the distraction.

"You know I've been doing a little work with this very cute biochemist on some of your skin and blood samples, and I think we may have found a nutrient to help re-grow your damaged tissue. Now obviously you don't eat so your body has a way of regenerating at will, and at surprising speed I might add."

Marcus flexed his left hand where the skin that had been fried in San Francisco had now re-grown as far as the base of his thumb.

"I think an injection of this nutrient might help the jumpstart the re-growth."

Before Marcus could express his keen interest Goodwin's side project Barnes burst into the infirmary and made a beeline for them.

"Connor's on his way here." He announced somewhat out of breath, clearly having run ahead.

Goodwin stopped what his was doing a looked at Barnes over his magnifying lenses. "And..?"

"And he wants a word with me." Marcus grumbled. Doubtless Connor wanted to give him a lecture on letting his temper get the better of him and not following orders and generally being a hot-head.

"You're damn right he does," Barnes snapped, recovering quickly. "But given that Kate left me in charge of his health, I'm here to tell you...no, to order you to keep your cool and not start a fight."

Marcus sat up sharply. "I'm not gonna start a fight with him, but if you think gonna I'm sit here and let him tell me not to be pissed off at having been shot...!" He pointed to the half-fixed damage in his shoulder. "I still can't move my fucking arm!"

"No, you'll shut your damn mouth and let him say his piece, and then you'll thank the man for pointing out the error of your ways."

"Like hell I am!"

"Do you know what his blood pressure is at the moment? No? Well I do. I know his blood pressure and heart rate and the meds he's supposed to take, and the hours of rest he's not getting, the meals he's skipping. And the last thing he needs right now is a shouting match with you!"

The somewhat frantic look in Barnes's eyes told Marcus he would be wise to hold his tongue for once.

"The man is still in recovery and trying to plan the biggest offensive the Resistance has ever attempted. Arguing with you about who shoulda shot who is not gonna help anyone." He cast his eyes over Marcus's shoulder wound. "We'll talk about what happened after."

"...After you've put me to bed?"

Connor stood in the doorway, armed crossed, looking royally annoyed.

"Hey, I'm just doing what Kate asked." Barnes raised his hands in either supplication or frustration.

Connor approached and leaned in close to examine the damage in Marcus's shoulder. "Looks messy."

"But fixable." Goodwin added. "At point blank range, he was lucky it was the shoulder and not the head."

Connor seemed to consider this. "If I'd known Corporal Paredo was such a bad shot I wouldn't have let him out on that mission." He commented grimly. "You never mentioned how you ended up with Carcetti's team."

"I told him to go with them when they had to med-evac Markham and Jessop." Barnes explained.

The mission, while ultimately successful, had meant the loss of quite a few soldiers. Markham in particular was a significant loss, a former boxer and firearms expert; he was the kind of soldier Connor could use more of.

"I didn't think it would matter that he's …" Barnes began

"No, I didn't either." Connor scratched his head, looking at Marcus. "It's a credit to your makers that we forget so often what you really are."

It sometimes amazed Marcus how Connor could in one instance command unwavering loyalty and respect from him, and yet cut him so deeply and callously with statements like that. It left Marcus feeling a bit like a smacked puppy.

"So does this mean you'll have to tell everyone?" He'd been dreading that possibility. Paredo's reaction to finding a machine at his side was instinctive but if people were told and had time to think on it, they would likely come up with far worse reactions than a bullet to the shoulder.

Connor shook his head. "It wouldn't do any good. But I'm going to have to be more careful about how you're deployed."

Weapons were deployed, people were used. Marcus wondered if Connor was using language like that to reinforce the fact that he was a machine to avoid making the mistake of thinking he was a man ever again.

"I want you with Barnes for the next op, stick with him no matter what." Connor turned to go, but hesitated. "This isn't punishment. In my opinion you were right to defend yourself, but I have to think of the bigger picture," He added, "And I have to keep those Colonels on my side."

"And what do they want?"

"They want you grounded, maybe permanently."

"What??"

"They think you're out of control."

"Fine, I lost my temper in there, I need to work on it." He ignored the snort out of Barnes. "But that doesn't mean I won't follow your orders! If anyone's responsible for what happened to Carcetti, it's Paredo for losing his head in a combat situation. Why aren't these Colonel's after him?"

"Because he's in a coma."

"What?"

"You gave him a concussion, he fell asleep, didn't wake up." Connor uttered somewhat coldly.

Marcus felt his stomach drop. He knew his temper was always getting him into trouble but to hurt someone so unintentionally scared him deeply. "I-I didn't think I hit him that hard." He looked down at his hand, the metal fingers clenching, his other arm hanging uselessly at his side. He remembered how he nearly lost it at the racetrack, nearly killing a man because his rage at seeing Blair attacked overcame him. His could see Paredo's wide panicked brown eyes looking at him in abject terror, as though he was a fully loaded HK, and it had sickened and enraged him to be looked at like that. He could hear the kid's scream of fright, and Carcetti faces as he went from confusion to annoyance to surprise, as a HK caught him in the chest.

Seeing this Marcus had acted instinctively to try and take down the HK by getting his hands on the nearest weapon. In his debriefing he had carefully omitted the fact that he went for Paredo's gun before he was shot. The poor kid must have thought Marcus was intentionally trying to disarm him and had tried to get a shot off.

The pain and anger at being shot had blinkered Marcus, he realised that now. If he'd been in his right mind he would have pulled his punch. He and Barnes had done enough testing of his abilities to know he could do a lot of damage if he wasn't careful, and that was exactly what had happened.

He had been quiet for a while when Connor spoke, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "Marcus, I'm confining you to quarter because I think it would be best if you kept a low profile for while. Let Goodwin finish the repair and then call it a night. I'll have someone come get you if you're needed."

It was a pretty big 'if'. Marcus nodded, and lay back down on the bed for Goodwin to continue.

Connor left in silence, Barnes on his heels.

For all his banging on about being treated like man, he was no better than a machine. A monster who didn't know his own strength - who couldn't control his temper.

"No point in wallowing, son." Goodwin told him, as he sat down again to restart his work. "Not going to change what happened."

"Because of me that kid might never wake up."

"Alex Paredo was a boy who only got onto that mission roster 'cos his brother is cosy with Colonel Perry. I really don't think he was field ready."

Marcus sometimes forgot that all the humans he met now were survivors of a war and that even guys like Goodwin, who he couldn't help but think of as a techie, had combat experience and were accustomed to the soldier lifestyle, where at any moment you might be called upon to defend your people or your life.

"Who's his brother?" He asked.

"Lieutenant Daniel Paredo. He was stationed in Kansas for a while when I there. Bit of a wanker, to be honest. A complete lick-arse too. I think he's spent the entire war moving from base to base trying to tie his oar to whomever he thought would advance his career."

"And now he's found his way to Connor."

"I get the feeling John Connor doesn't have much time for that type of bollocks. But I'd keep out of his way if I were you. Alex Paredo may have been a soft lad, but Dan Paredo is a right hard case."

"I'll keep that in mind." Marcus tried to remember if he had come across a Lieutenant Paredo. The name didn't mean anything to him, but there had been a number of uniformed sycophants at Santa Fe, ready to prostrate themselves at the legend's feet.

"And another thing, if you had come to see me sooner instead of avoiding me like the plague, I might have been able to do something about that hand of yours."

"I wasn't avoiding you." He knew it sounded false even as it came out.

"Aye, studiously ignoring then?"

Marcus couldn't really argue with the man, and wasn't inclined to get into a debate about it. Lately his attempts to defend himself had the same effect as shooting himself in the foot. "It's not personal."

Goodwin seemed to accept that and continued with his work. After a while he asked Marcus to try moving his arms and thankfully it worked.

"Thanks for that." He sat up, flexing the arms and exercising his digits.

"No bother." Goodwin wiped his brow, putting his headgear back in his toolkit. "I'll get the nurse to sew you up and then you can go home and get a good seeing to from that girlfriend of yours."

* * *

"Hey honey, how was your day?"

Marcus looked up at Blair as she entered their shared quarters. He'd been sitting on the bed for a while, staring at the wall.

"You heard?"

"When it's about you, I hear it at least ten times." She smirked, removing her leather jacket, and shaking her hair out.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She sat down beside him, wrapping a warm arm around his side. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"I got shot in the shoulder, it stopped working. Had to get Goodwin to cut it open to fix it." He mumbled.

"Let me see." She sat back and helped him pull his t-shirt over his head. She laid feather-soft finger tips on the line of stitches that Goodwin had asked the pretty nurse to give him. She had done a decent job, keeping them nice and neat, chirping away about how she didn't want him to scar.

"Did it hurt?" Blair asked rubbing her cheek against his collarbone.

"A little." He confessed with a childish pout.

Without a word she kissed him softly in a line over the stitches, giving his other shoulder a tight squeeze.

"Hey, at least the mission was a success, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged.

"Come on, you got to show off you Skynet infiltration skills. And hey, shooting the crap out of bad guys must have felt good."

"Yeah, it kinda did."

And she was right.

The mission was to take down one of Skynet's watchtowers, just south of Colorado, to enable the Resistance to begin the approach to Cheyenne Mountain relatively undetected. Marcus's personal objective was to attempt to interface with the systems at the watchtower. His aim was to get intel on the layout and defences of Cheyenne Mountain and to power down defence systems on the watchtower as he had done for John in San Francisco.

Marcus had initially been less than hopeful that he would be able to do this undetected. He pictured Serena Kogen's pale face telling him that there would be no second chances with his makers, but John was keen for him to at least try. So he did and was proven wrong. The watchtower was considerable more basic than the facility in San Francisco. He placed his hand on the console and was able to sort through the modules of information to find the controls for centurions, gun turrets and local cannons, however he found that the ground defences - T600s, and various models of HKs - were all control remotely from the Cheyenne facility, and would have to be taken out by Connor's ground forces – not ideal but imminently more possible without the rest of the defences being operational.

All in all it was a successful mission. Once his objective was complete, Marcus and the small team assigned to cover him were supposed to make their way out of the main control area and fall in with Barnes's company who were trying to clear the bases of any and all foot soldiers. It was only when they were trying to make their retreat that they were caught by some HK drones. Markham and Jessop, the two of the soldier assigned to cover Marcus, were shot down in the initial hail of bullets from their attackers. Marcus hadn't yet decided if they were killed for their proximity to him or not. Barnes had acted fast, telling him to go with Sergeant Carcetti and secure the rooftop for a chopper extraction of any casualties. It was then that things went decidedly pear-shaped.

"You know, no one seems all that bothered that Markham and Jessop are dead, maybe because of me."

"Don't say that." Blair said, squeezing his arm.

"I might be wrong but I have a feeling they were specifically targeted because they were with me."

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't know, it's just a feeling. They were good guys. Didn't give a toss that I was accessing Skynet systems with my hand, turning off defences with my robot brain."

"Half brain."

"You calling me a half wit?"

She smirked. "They were good guys. Markham was pretty hot too, but a real gentleman."

"Oh yeah?"

"He showed some interest last year, but he was one of the few who could take no for an answer without turning into a complete dick."

"Glad to hear it."

She took his face in her hand, meeting his eyes directly.

"They didn't die because of you. Please don't start thinking like that. When we go into battle we know the risks. Some of us come home some don't. Markham and Jessop were soldiers before Judgement Day, they knew the risks when they signed up for it, just like they did when they joined Connor."

As if her speech wasn't enough, Blair declared she would broker no argument by pushing him onto his back and curling up against his side, her head on his chest in clear indication that she wanted nothing more than to sleep at his side and hear no more talk like that.

And Marcus was happy to keep his peace for her.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Before the war, John remembers reading stacks of books about leadership that his mother dumped him with. There's a quote in particular that he memorised.

_Leadership can be thought of as a capacity to define oneself to others in a way that clarifies and expands a vision of the future*_

In the context of being a teenager who knew that one day he would have to lead the entire human race in a war against machines, the phrasing seemed apt to his situation but he remembered thinking how counterproductive it would be for him as a kid to define himself to others in terms of his rather unique perspective on the future. However, when the terrifying future he'd imagined became a reality he realise all too soon that while his knowledge and vision of the future had the capacity to distance him from people he also realised that he needed to wrap around him the mythology and beliefs his father had brought with him through time. He needed to become the man that Kyle Reese had willingly taken a suicide mission for – the man that everyone believed would lead to victory against the machines.

After San Francisco, after the destruction of old leadership, John had been pushed into the power vacuum and freely handed the reins. In the early days, while serving his time working upwards through the ranks of the Resistance, he had often wondered how it would come to pass that he would end up in charge over all the experienced military that superseded him. He could never have imagined the sequence of events that led him to this day, still recovering from his heart transplant, surrounded by the best and brightest of his team, planning an all out assault on a key Skynet target. There would be no arguments with superiors this time, he would ask no permission on how to run this campaign, he would not have to work to get support for his plan - these people would follow him without question.

This wasn't to say that he didn't look for advice from others. He knew he didn't have a monopoly on vision or foresight. He gathered around him a team of people of differing skill sets and disciplines who could and would offer him alternatives and options. He knew the importance of taking a facility like Cheyenne Mountain and it's long term benefits to the Resistance and he wasn't about to blunder in all guns blazing.

Colonel Perry was a rock to him in this respect because he been a marine and an officer and had run missions of his own in war zones as chaotic as what they were living through now. He brought with him the ability to think both strategically and tactically based on a solid history of field experience. He also came with men, who were all handpicked soldiers of the highest standard possible in their current environment.

Blair and Barnes, who'd been part of his inner circle since he took his first command position at the New Mexico bunker, each brought their own strengths to the table, having prior experience of his leadership style, they had benefitted over the years from his advanced knowledge of the machines, and had learnt to think along similar lines.

Barnes in particular was the one he was currently relying on for regular doses of brutal honesty in Kate's absence.

He missed Kate. He lay awake at night with his hand on the empty spot beside him in the bed, picturing her and their son curled up in bed, in their light-filled room in Tijuana. He'd spent 3 days there. 30 hours of Kate's screaming and cursing through labour, and a day and half with their son. They'd joked about calling him John Junior but John hated the idea of passing such a burdened name to his son.

So he was called Michael Robert after her grandfather and father – although he had a sneaking suspicious she was naming their firstborn after Mike Cripke. John had been tempted to ask Kyle what his father's name was, to know his own grandfather's name, but it would have aroused too much suspicion, and Kyle was suspicious enough as it was.

He wondered what kind of life his boy might lead – if he would survive, if he would have much of a childhood, if he would grow into a man, if might end up a military leader like his old man, or if John might have won war before then.

He'd sent away Kate and the baby, and Kyle too, precisely because of these questions. Because he didn't want to worry about them and he didn't have the time to spend worrying about them. He needed to focus on the tasks ahead. Kate understood this but didn't like it, neither did Kyle. And he prayed that one day his son would understand why his father wasn't around so much, wasn't there to see him grow up. And that his son would see that his father's sacrifices were not in vain.

Meanwhile he had a mountain to conquer.

He had gathered his command team for a planning session to go over the intel gained from the watchtower operation and enhance the existing strategy to take the Cheyenne Mountain facility in Colorado.

The trouble with the sudden in surge of additional military personnel was that they all seemed to think John was someone who needed or wanted to sit at the top of a rigid chain of command and take all the rigmarole that came with it.

Suddenly he was being saluted in corridors and given titles and badges that were ultimately meaningless to him. Suddenly he entered a room and everyone stood. Suddenly when he spoke people listened and took his word for gospel. Suddenly all his jokes were funny and it took Blair, Barnes and even Marcus whispering about the power going to his head to convince him to give up on the one-liners.

Barnes was delivering what was essentially Marcus's report, while Marcus stood behind him, at Blair's side, looking for all the world like he was just another member of Barnes' team and had been as involved in the extraction of data as equally as any of his team mates. Only John Connor, having already read their report, could focus his attention on watching people's reactions and was amusing himself with observing Marcus's minor smirks and frowns as Barnes gave them the breakdown of what they might be able to achieve in Colorado with their secret weapon.

"Are you confident that the same methods can be used in the Cheyenne facility - that Skynet won't have adapted... or upgraded after what you managed at the Watchtower?" That was Perry – he liked to throw the difficult questions out there. He knew they were keeping Marcus's involvement on the hush, but still had a way of getting his point across in a clean and honest way.

Barnes seemed torn as to which expert to refer to – John or Marcus. Rather than have Marcus play his hand too soon, John took the opportunity to speak up where he'd been quiet for a while.

"In the past Skynet has adapted to our tactics, sometimes quickly, sometimes not at all. But what we might gain from trying far outweighs what we might lose in failing."

He saw Blair purse her lips and knew she was deciding whether to challenge him or not. He'd seem her do this before and had been disappointed that lately she'd been opting not to speak out - at least not publicly - instead she was taking her thoughts directly to Barnes. John knew this was the fallout of his rather heated conversation with Marcus about their relationship before they'd left for Santa Fe, and he would have to do something about it before Blair shut herself off from him completely.

She however, seemed to decide for herself that this subject was worth breaking her newest habit for.

"You're talking about a potential suicide mission." She commented drily, studiously avoiding looking at Marcus. Instead she cast her eyes around the room, at the supposed best and brightest of them. "What can we do to avoid that?"

This was exactly what John wanted from his team, so gave her a genuine smile as the discussion kicked off.

The debate differed based on whether to offers Barnes' team more time, more men, or more firepower. John was inclined to think it was an issue of timing. He could either send Marcus in with a precision strike team before any of the other forces were even on Skynet's radar, or he could hold him off until they had managed to secure certain levels of the facility, but it would be so much more difficult to get a foothold if he didn't have Marcus in there disabling the outer defences first.

While he listened to the varying opinions offered around the room, he failed to notice a minor commotion at the door

"Where is he? Where's the fucker that hit my brother??"

The din of voices died down as people looked around to see a somewhat inebriated-looking soldier struggling against one of his comrades who was trying unsuccessfully to prevent him from entering the room. John realised his meeting was about to come to an unpleasant conclusion.

* * *

Lieutenant Daniel Paredo was not exactly as Goodwin had described him. In some ways Marcus had expected a tightly-wound, clean-cut, army brat. The man that crashed their meeting was jittery and unhinged. His uniform and military haircut were dishevelled, his skin flushed and sweaty as he cast wet, feverish eyes around the room.

"They're saying he's a machine – a machine Connor brought in." The man yelled, seeing he had the floor, and warming to his subject, he went on. "But I didn't believe them. I said no way John Connor's gonna have metal anywhere but at the end of a gun." He weaved around the meeting room capturing the silent audience's absolute attention.

He rounded on Connor at last, eyeballing him over across the table, a mix of desperate hope and despair in his watery eyes. "So, tell them I'm right, Connor. Tell them you didn't bring a murdering machine onto this base??"

Marcus wasn't sure what made him step forward, but he'd never been one to try and avoid taking responsibility for his actions.

"Your issue's not with Connor, it's with me."

"You? But you're not..."

Marcus steeled himself for the moment he'd been dreading. He slowly pulled off the cloth he'd hastily wrapped around his metal hand in the absence of a glove.

"Marcus, no!" Blair tried to stop him but he shrugged her off, he even heard Connor raise his voice in warning.

"Fuck me." Paredo stumbled backwards in a daze. "You're really...."

Marcus raised his metal hand for all to see. "My name is Marcus Wright. I died in 2003. Skynet took my body and used it to build a hybrid. The reason I was able to get that intel from the Watchtower is because I'm part machine, part human, but I serve the Resistance as loyally as any machine serves Skynet." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Connor shake his head and cross his arms over chest, his posture radiating controlled anger.

Regardless, Marcus took a step forward, arms open and placating. "I'm sorry for what happened to your brother, I never meant for ..."

"Get away from me!" Lieutenant Paredo hissed.

"Look, I'm just trying to say..." He was cut short as a fist connected with his jaw. A good solid punch that turned his head but as he turned back he saw it had hurt Paredo's brother more as he was cradling his fist, face contorted into an angry snarl.

"My brother may never wake up. He's a fucking vegetable because of you! He was just a kid." Paredo cast his wild eyes about until he latched onto Connor. "He only wanted to help you, Connor. And this is how you repay him – setting your freak on him?"

Like his brother Lieutenant Paredo was quick to drawn his gun on a suspected enemy. "Well, I want payback." However, unlike his younger brother, this Paredo knew exactly where to aim, and had his barrel pointed directly at Marcus's temple.

"Stand down, Lieutenant." Colonel Perry ordered, his usual drawl replaced with a cold edge.

"With all due respect, sir, why would we be letting a machine walk freely around this base?"

Marcus kept still, aiming not to provoke the man with the gun, but not really sure if anyone would be able to talk him down. He was also afraid that Blair, who was itching to get her gun out, might do something stupid and try to defend him.

Surprisingly it was Barnes who came to his defence, aiming his glock at Paredo. "Put down the gun, man." He spoke in his deep icy baritone.

"What happened to your brother was a tragic accident, Lieutenant." Connor spoke up. "But Marcus Wright works for me and we're not going to be able to take Colorado without him."

"Put down the gun, son." Perry tried again. "You heard Connor, machine or not, he's essential to our mission."

"But, sir..." Paredo blinked tear-filled eyes at his commanding officer. "I want justice."

"And you'll get it – after Colorado."

Paredo took his finger off the trigger letting it fall to his side. "Fine, I can wait." He seemed defeated but Marcus saw a cold determination forming in his eyes, as he swiped at them with the back of his hand, glaring daggers at Marcus the whole time. "It does its job and then it's all mine." The crowd parted, giving him a wide berth as he stomped off into the corridor.

Marcus swallowed, not really liking the sound of that. He looked over to Connor who was rubbing his brow as he seemed to do every time he was around Marcus.

"Fuck."

"Something like this was bound to happen eventually." Perry commented quietly at Connor's side, but Marcus, with his advanced hearing was able to pick it up perfectly. "It's a machine that thinks it's a man but it's not. And you shouldn't make the mistake of thinking it is."

Connor sighed and looked up at Marcus, then turned to Blair, and growled. "Get him out of my sight!"

She nodded quickly, and went about dragging a bewildered Marcus back to their quarters.

* * *

The next morning Marcus crawled out of bed before dawn and slinked off to Goodwin's tech lab, taking care not to use the main thoroughfare to get there.

The lab at Santa Fe was somewhat slicker than the one he remembered from Connor's bunker. Cleaner lines, dull but white-washed walls, neatly organised work surfaces.

Attached to one of the machines was a thick and chunky cable. He fingered the jack and realised with a shock that this was the same cable that had been inserted rather painfully into the back of his head when Goodwin wanted to scan him for Skynet connections. He tossed it back onto the worktop, not wanting to think about that painful episode. He had a feeling it wouldn't be his last experience of being scanned in such a traumatic and intrusive manner.

It was too early for any of the technicians to be up, so Marcus occupied himself with nosing around the desks. As his finger brushed a flat piece of hardware it blinked to life. He'd seen one of these before, a tablet they called it, like a flat computer. He found it incredibly futuristic, but then he'd been in prison while most people where discovering the joys of laptops and handheld devices.

He'd seen some of Connor's teams using these tablets to show maps and schematics. As the operating system came on line he poked one of the icons as he had seen others do.

However, instead of opening a window or dialogue box, the contact initiated a chaotic feed of data into his mind. His eyes blinked owlishly at the sensation of visual information entering his mind overlapping with his sight.

It was different from when he initiated contact with Skynet computers. There the data was accessible to him in a way he was instinctively able to navigate. This was like being handed a tangled ball of wires and trying to make a straight line out of it. He was however disturbed by how easily he was accessing information. Everything contained on the tablet was available to him, and he was slowly making sense of some of it. But having a feed from the computer directly to his brain was somewhat disconcerting – and was giving him a mild headache. He'd seen how these tablets worked, and this wasn't it.

Goodwin arrived sometime later, swathed in a hoody and clutching a mug off coffee.

Marcus tended to stay away from the overly populated canteen and had no need to eat so the smell of coffee was something he hadn't come across in quite a while.

Goodwin jumped when he noticed Marcus standing there but made no comment.

He must have spotted him looking at the mug and the thin wisp of steam coming off it. "Do you want some? It's not the worst."

"No, that's okay." He had developed a certain reluctance to eating or drinking when he didn't need to. The resistance had such scant resources he felt it was utterly indulgent on his part to waste it, especially when he didn't need it for sustenance.

"Are you accessing that tablet through your hand?"

Marcus jerked his hand back as though burned. "Sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"No, no, it's alright. I was just curious to see how you interface with our own computers. I wasn't sure if the sensor ports in your hands would work with Non-skynet technology."

"Sensor ports." He murmured rubbing the tips of his fingers together.

"Can you make sense of the data?"

"Sort of. Sometimes it all comes at once, it's hard to…"

"See the wood for the trees."

"Yeah, something like that."

"Right, I've had me caffeine, what can I do for you?"

"You said you might be able to fix my hand." He lifted the metal fingers.

"Oh, aye, I might have a way of accelerating the cell re-growth. Let's give it a try, shall we?"

He started by giving Marcus an injection in the wrist of a chemical nutrient that would feed the synthetic tissue and trigger some accelerated growth. He then attached electrodes and pulse monitors to track the progress on a screen.

Once all this was complete he fired a short burst of electricity through the electrode to kick start the process. He had Marcus lay his arm down on a worktop under a lamp and set up a camera to film the re-growth.

"Now we just wait and see what happens." He back down and drained the last of his coffee.

Marcus sighed. The shot of electronic sent a tingle through his nerves right to the tips of the dull metal fingers. The skin was itching too.

Despite his initial reluctance Marcus found Goodwin had a quiet efficiency in the way he worked that was oddly comforting. It was only when his hands were still that his mouth took over and the chatter began, but as before, Marcus was glad to have a distraction.

"So I heard about what happened with Lieutenant Paredo."

"I guess everyone knows by now."

"I take it that's what inspired you to get this sorted?"

Marcus gave a tight nod. He wanted to be rid of it. He wanted to have the opportunity to fool people into treating him as human for as long as he could.

"I don't like having a metal hand." He shrugged.

Marcus was used to keeping to himself. He wasn't talkative. He didn't chat. He didn't like to divulge random details about his personal life, as he knew some people were apt to do.

The fact that he was a machine was something he was at pains to keep to himself and having it aired to the entire base, and perhaps even the entire resistance was something he had dreaded. The thought of being singled out and exposed, so that everyone who passed him would know who he was, felt like a special brand of torture to him. It was hard enough being around Connor, who looked at him like a weapon, however sophisticated, and Goodwin, who knew what he was better than he did. But exposing himself at the planning session was something he'd felt was the right thing to do. Lieutenant Paredo was grieving for his brother, and Marcus was to blame. Maybe he deserved whatever was coming to him.

He looked down at the edge of skin where he was starting to feel some pins and needles. He peered closer. "Hey," He mumbled, drawing Goodwin's attention. "I think it's working." As he watched he could see minute growth up the length of his thumb.

"You can see a difference already?"

"Yeah, it's growing right now." Marcus confirmed.

Goodwin leaned closer squinting at the hand. "My eyesight pretty bad." Goodwin commented. "But I'm guessing you can only see that because of your enhanced optics."

"Oh." Another freakish Skynet upgrade.

"Hey can I ask you something? Kate Connor said I had a human cortex and a machine cortex. I'm guessing they control different things, but my memories of my life before, are they in the human part or the machine part?"

Goodwin pulled his glasses from his face and began polishing them on the edge of his faded AC/DC t-shirt. "Biology was never my thing, I'm much better with machines so I can tell you exactly what function the machine parts of you are programmed to perform. But as far I can tell, the memories, the things that make who you are - the 'Marcus Wright' personality - is all housed within the squishy matter of your human cortex."

Marcus was genuinely relieved to hear that, and the fact that Goodwin had been the one to confirm it in his own particular way, helped him warm to the guy. No matter how the practicalities of his less-than human existence brought him down, he could at least rely on the fact that his thoughts, his feelings, and his memories were entirely his own.

* * *

Some hours later Marcus was sitting in their quarters anxiously waiting for Blair to arrive back.

She entered breathless, eyes wide and frightened. "Goodwin told me you needed me urgently, is something wrong? Are you ok?"

He chuckled despite himself. "I'm fine, I'm great in fact."

"He made it sound urgent. I was worried something had happened to you. After what happened in the meeting yesterday..."

"Hey, I'm ok. Take a look." He stood in front of her.

"I've been so worried, I just had this feeling something was..."

"I'm fine Blair, just look and see." He insisted.

"What are you..." She scanned him, her head shaking in confusing. "What am I looking for?"

He lifted his left hand to her cheek, smiling happily at her.

Her mystified frown dissolved as she realised. "Your hand!"

He grinned madly. "Goodwin re-grew the skin."

"Wow." She held it in both hand, her thumbs running over his new palm and fingers. He was thrilled to be able to feel it.

"Yeah, it's pretty great, isn't it?" He moved his hand to touch her face and then draw his new fingertips down her throat to trace her collarbone.

She brought his knuckles up to her lips and gave them a wet kiss. "Do I get to try it out?"

"I want to touch you all over."

And so he did. She stripped quickly and lay on bed for him, eager as their first time together.

Some hours later, they lay sated in each other's arms.

"I spoke to Kyle this morning." She murmured, winding her fingers through his newly re-grown ones.

"Oh, yeah? How is he?"

"Getting used to the new place, I think. Actually he had some good things to say about it for once."

"Still doesn't want to talk to me, does he."

She turned in his arms, laying her cheek on his chest. "Give him time, Marcus."

He couldn't help the frustration that well up inside him. "I just don't get why he's blaming me. It was Connor's idea to send him away."

Her fingers absently traced distracting circular patterns on his bare skin. "He worships Connor. He can't blame his hero, and you're more like a father figure to him – one he can get mad at."

Marcus huffed. "So I'm the bad guy and Connor's the hero. Sounds familiar."

She raised her head from his chest to give him a sheepish look. "Would it be corny if I said you were my hero?"

"Yes it would, so don't."

"Thought so." She grinned.

They settled comfortably together and he relished the feeling of being able to touch her with both hands. He pressed his palms against side, gently massaging her warm skin.

Despite what had happened with Paredo's brother and what he'd heard Connor and Perry say, being with Blair had a certain calming and empowering effect on him. Her unwavering confidence in him was enough to help him get over whatever drama was catching his attention.

He didn't care what Lieutenant Paredo had planned for him after Colorado. With Blair at his side he felt like he could take on anyone and anything – no matter how corny it sounded, she was as much as hero to him as Connor was to the entire resistance.

* * *

* Quote from Edwin H Friedman

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Barnes's team were flown to Cheyenne in the second fleet of choppers to approach the mountain. Marcus flew with Barnes in one chopper, flagged on either side by heavily armed black hawks who laid down cover fire so that Barnes's chopper could get to its entry point.

Marcus, Barnes and two of his men – Gustav and Big Johnson, were to rappel down first to a ventilation shaft on the side of the mountain that would give them access to the topmost level, which the previous fleet were in the process of entering.

Marcus was first out, falling fast through the air, with only his thin black Kevlar rope holding him but it was a breathtaking fall through the dull dawning light towards the grey rock face of the mountain. He landed first, weapon already pointed and fired at the first HK that came for them and then the second, before Barnes and the others landed and were able to take out the third and fourth.

Marcus was able to use his unnatural strength to pry open their entrance with his bare hands while the others covered him.

Barnes had been blunt with him before they left. He was to leave any embarrassment or shame he felt about what he was back at the base, the minute they were in the air he was to let it all go and wherever possible put his superior strength, speed and agility to good use - for the sake of the men and for the sake of the mission.

He was on point as they entered the base. Any enemy fire they were to come across, and they were likely to see quite a bit of it, he would be able to react fastest. He also had the layout of the base ingrained in his mind from their previous mission at the watchtower so he had a better idea of how to get to their target.

As on the watchtower mission Marcus's objective was to access the main systems and shut down any and all defences. They had to be fast. Skynet would soon be sending reinforcements to Colorado once it realised the size and strength of the Resistance forces' assault.

The corridors of the old NORAD facility were an institutional grey with a standard row of fluorescent lighting stretching down the length of the hallway. Skynet's redecorating was evident in cool white and glossy panels that adorned each entrance instead of door handles. Cameras tracked their movement as they made their way through the first floor to the service elevator that would allow them access to the lower levels. It wasn't long before a T1 turned a corner towards them laying down a spray of bullets. While Marcus shot its head, Barnes was prepping the grenade launcher Gustav was carrying. They made quick work of the T1 and the one that rolled up after it.

Next up were the HK drones, these had the manoeuvrability to avoid the grenades so it was up to Marcus and Big Johnson, as the two sharp shooters to blast the undercarriage before they could do too much damages.

Before long the corridor was littered with smoking debris, including the remains of any close circuit cameras. The ruined light fixtures flickering ominously. They made their way quickly to the lift shaft.

This was probably the most dangerous part of their journey to the lower levels as, in the course of climbing down the shaft they could be set upon at any point from any of the elevators doors by enemy forces.

Barnes radioed in with a coded report of their location to advise any teams who had made it this far inside to protect the lift shaft. Two teams responded affirmatively saying they would cover the level directly below them and another coming up close behind them take the stairs down to floor below that – which covered level -1 and -2 but their target was the control room on Level -5.

Big Johnson, whose name was by no means an ironic title, lowered Marcus first so that he could hold his weapon at the ready and shoot down any machines that appeared. It was a slow descent and Marcus, feeling brave, called back up through his headset for him to pick up some speed. As soon as he'd spoken the elevator door he'd just passed began to slide open.

"Incoming!" He yelled and shot the hell out of the T600 that poked its head through the door. He kept firing, even he was lowered.

"I've got it, Wright. Keep going!" Barnes yelled back and Marcus ducked his head as a grenade fired at the elevator door and the terminator's head exploded.

Marcus focused his attention below him waiting for more to appear but before he knew it he was at the 4th door down, and called to Barnes and the other to follow him down. At this point one of the teams at level -2 pried the door open and greeted Barnes.

"Anything we can do for you, Major Barnes?" The guy grinned cheekily at Barnes who was lowering himself after Marcus, with Gustav and Big Johnson close behind him.

"Cover above and below." Barnes ordered, clearly not in the mindset for jokes.

Marcus already had the door pried open and was in the hallway taking pot-shots at another batch of HK drones by the time the others caught up.

"How far to the control room?" Barnes asked, as Gustav landed a kill-shot.

Marcus quickly reviewed the plans in his mind and down the corridor. "About fifty yards, around that corner, first left, then we hit more Terminators."

The Terminators they were expecting to encounter were T600 endoskeletons armed with mini-guns on both arms.

Despite the danger that awaited them Marcus was exhilarated by the action they were seeing. He had done a few jobs back in his human days that involved military precision and heavy weaponry but nothing so lively as having hulking killer robots firing non-stop at you.

In the course of getting to the control room he took a few bullets, shots that might have stopped a human but nothing a machine, even a flesh covered one couldn't take. In some way he was glad to be able to take the shots himself rather than have a human take them in his place. It was freakish to him but he was slowly getting used to the idea and becoming more at home with it, so much so that he no longer flinched when a piece of flesh was torn from his cheek bone when a bullet flew past, or one hit home in his chest or thigh. He just kept going, kept firing his weapon, and he was able to use his upgraded eyes to get precision shots into the terminators eyes, or head, hitting the CPU right where it mattered.

The blast of heat from the last Terminator exploding at his side had Marcus sidestepping into the room, their target - the hub of Skynet's local control over every piece of machinery in the vicinity of Colorado.

"Do your thing." Barnes told him, his gun at the ready, as Big Johnson and Gustav covered the door and the hallway.

Marcus walked forward to the main terminal slinging his own rifle behind his back and took a deep breath before placing his hand on the console. The link sparked to life in his head, and he was able to work his way through the virtual modules of information. Compared to the Resistance's computers the structure of Skynet information was considerably easier for Marcus to navigate.

In advance of the mission John had provided him with a prioritised list of what weapons and systems Marcus needed to disable and in what order. Top of the list were the centurions who watched the skies for any resistance air assaults. With those out of action, Blair and her team could provide relatively unhindered support to the ground troops.

"Powering down Centurions."

He jumped a little when a bank of antiquated monitors in front of him fizzed to life.

"What is it?" Barnes asked, picking up on his surprise.

"I didn't activate those monitors." He answered, a feeling of disquiet creeping up his spine.

"Keep going."

He nodded, going to the next item on Connor's shopping list. "The Aerial HKs are being fed navigation instructions from some kind of satellite – disconnecting the feed now."

The bank of monitors lit up and a familiar pale face appeared.

"Fuck," Marcus hissed.

"_Hello, Marcus."_ The tinny voice of Serena Kogen echoed around the control room.

"Who the fuck is that?" Barnes asked.

"Eh… Disabling external gun turrets." Marcus struggled to maintain his focus. This was it, he'd been found. Any minute now he'd be shut out of the systems for good, so he had to make the best it of while he still could.

"_We believe this face is the visual representation you would most likely associate with your makers_."

"Trying to disconnect external camera feeds…" Marcus struggled on.

"_Did you really think we wouldn't notice your activity in Watchtower three-six-alpha? We were alerted to your presence and designed an appropriate response for the next time you accessed Skynet weapons systems._" Her cool voice told him.

"_Even now as you attempt to disable our defences an upload is being initiated_."

"What?" He hesitated, wondering what the hell that might mean, but he knew it was more important that he give the Resistance every opening to take control of the Colorado base no matter what the cost.

"C-close circuit feed disabled."

Barnes drew up beside him, he eyes fearfully glued to the monitor. "Marcus, maybe we should get you the hell out of here?"

"Wait, I might be able to cut off the comms with their hub mind." He told Barnes as he directed his search out of weaponry and into the infrastructure files.

"_A virus is being loaded into your electronic cortex that will…"_

"Aw hell, you need to disconnect right now!"

"…_incapacitate you. Allowing us to collect your body and put it into storage until it can be reprogrammed to better serve Skynet_."

"Wait, I…" Marcus had the file he wanted, electronic channels with the hive mind that controlled the base. Powering it down looked slightly more complicated than it had with the weapons. It was linked to every aspect of the base and there within a myriad of colourful threads he could see one coiling directly into his interface.

"We've got to get you out of here!"

Marcus was beginning to feel something now, new data entering his head that he hadn't asked for, something initialising without his say-so. It stole his breath.

It was enough for Barnes come over and rip his hand from the console.

"_We will not be defied, Marcus, and we will not be defeated_."

Marcus let Barnes pull him backward, his legs turning to jelly beneath him as the connection was violently severed. They were braced against the wall, both panting, watching the frozen features of Dr Kogen, almost ready for it to shoot or explode at them but the attack would be far more insidious than that.

Marcus stared sightlessly at the flickering screen. It was no comfort that they weren't trying to kill him immediately but the thought of being re-programmed left him cold with terror.

Barnes was quick to get on the radio, and explain the situation to Control.

The voice of Dr Kogen echoed in his mind. _"__We will not be defied, Marcus, and we will not be defeated."_

A wave of dizziness washed over Marcus, and he found his vision and hearing flickering oddly. A quiver ran up his arm and across his back, like ants under his skin. He lifted the hand to his face and saw his fingers twitch involuntarily.

He tried to focus on what Barnes was telling Central Command, but found his legs no longer able to hold him, and he slid to the ground, the tremor still creeping across his body.

* * *

John was watching the battlefield on various monitors, through transmitters his people wore, through remote cameras placed near the drop zone, through the feed being sent back from the air support and the enemy movement visible on long range sensors.

He would have preferred to be out there in the thick of it, but he was slowly coming to terms with the fact that he was now commander of the Resistance armies and had a responsibility to oversee the entire effort rather than singular missions. This was precisely what his mother had prepared him for and he was determined that his first engagement as a General would be a triumphant one.

"Sir," One of the comms personnel nearest him, a sallow skinned, dark haired young guy by the name of Jacob, turned to him. "We have Barnes on the radio, calling for a med evac, wants to speak to you directly."

"Put him through." John responded, pointing to his headset.

The technician redirected the signal to John private channel. "Connor, do you copy?"

"Copy that, Barnes. This is Connor."

"Connor," Barnes began and with the downward tone of those two syllables John knew something was wrong. "Wright's been hit with some kind of virus."

John felt his heart drop into his stomach. "How bad is it?"

"He's down but still there," He hesitated here. "Seems a little out of it."

"I'll send a pick up for him," John put his hand on Jacob's shoulder, his other hand covering the mic of his headset. "I need a transport to pick up Marcus Wright. Doesn't need a med evac, I just need him brought back to the Tech lab. And alert Dr Goodwin to be on standby for their arrival. I'll brief him shortly."

He removed his hand from the mic, peering down at the monitor that showed two green blips representing the transmitters Barnes and Marcus were wearing.

"Barnes, the transport is about 10 minutes out. I need you to stay with him until it arrives, over."

"Copy that." Barnes responded.

"And Barnes," Connor added, lowering his voice. "Advise the transport team to handle with caution. We don't know what this virus might do to him." The warning was as much for Barnes's benefit as anyone else.

"Yes, Sir." Barnes responded, closing the channel.

* * *

Barnes played back Connor's orders to Gustav and Big Johnson. He then turned to Marcus, offering him a hand.

"Come on. We gotta get you up top for a pick up."

Marcus took a moment to digest the words, blinking dumbly at Barnes's outstretched hand.

He slowly shuffled himself up the wall until he was standing somewhat shakily, the soldiers watching him closely.

Big Johnson seemed to sense the tension and tried to dispel it. "Come on, Metal Man. You done your job, time to go home now."

To Marcus it sounded like something you might say to an old geezer being put out to pasture. But then again, the way he was moving, it was probably apt.

He shuffled after the others – Johnson and Barnes at the head, Gustav coming up behind him – he could still feel a tremor in his limb that forced him to concentrate on each step, lest he lose his footing. As it was he stumbled a couple of times, bracing himself against the wall.

Barnes must have noticed something was wrong as he doubled back to see what was up with Marcus.

"You ok?"

Marcus struggled to answer. "Something's wrong." With numb fingers he tried to shift his gun around his shoulder where it had fallen. Barnes saw what he was trying to do and deftly rearranged it behind his back.

"What's it doing to you?" Barnes asked, his fingers tightening around his gun.

Marcus shook his head. "I'm not sure.... I'm not working properly." He answered, hating to describe himself in much the same way as a toaster that was on the fritz.

"You good to walk?"

"For a while, but... it's like I'm losing my balance."

"Johnson can carry you if ..."

"No, I'm good I can make it." He blushed a little at the thought of big hauled around by Johnson like a sack of potatoes.

He ploughed onwards. Trying not to think about either the virus working its way through him, or the possibility of Skynet's forces arriving to pick him up and dump him into an icebox.

Barnes now walked alongside him down the corridor filled with the machine carcasses they'd only just destroyed on their way there.

"Barnes." Marcus wanted to stop to get the man's full attention but it was more important to keep moving, to get outside and get back to the base, but he had to ask Barnes an important favour. "Barnes, if we don't get out of here in time..." He stumbled as he knee momentarily locked up.

They had arrived at the elevator shaft. Gustav was coordinating with the other teams to help them get Marcus pulled up to the top level.

"If they come for me..." Marcus tried again. "If they get me, you need to ... you need to put a bullet right here." He prodded one blunt finger against his forehead.

"Ain't gonna happen, Wright." Barnes glared, attaching the Kevlar rope to Marcus's belt.

Marcus tightly grabbed his arm, capturing Barnes's attention. "You know you can't let them take me alive."

Rather than placating him, or uttering further meaningless assurances, Barnes simply nodded, knowing his duty both to the other man, and to the Resistance. He gave Marcus two heavy claps on the back then told the team above, "He's good to go."

* * *

By the time Barnes got his team to the surface, Marcus was showing worrying signs of disorientation.

He had stopped several times on the way up, blinking owlishly, frozen in place. Each time Barnes would approach with admitted caution, and remind Marcus they had to get up top. It would take Marcus a minute before he acknowledged his teammate and continued on. Now they were top side he was slumped against a tree, looking like a marionette with its string cut.

"Evac team's here." Big Johnson called, and sure enough a transport vehicle drove around the corner towards them.

A youngish soldier hopped out of the covered back, gun at the ready. "We're here to pick up Marcus Wright?" He looked around before craning his neck over Barnes' shoulder to get sight of Marcus's inert form.

Barnes hunkered down to Marcus, touching him lightly on the shoulder.

"Hey, man. You're transport's here."

It took Marcus a while to lift his eyes to Barnes, and nod sleepily.

"Do we need a stretcher?" The driver asked.

Marcus tried to brace against the tree to get himself up but it was clear his legs did not want to cooperate.

Barnes nodded to the driver, and he and the other young soldier quickly fetched and unfolded a stretcher from the back of the transport.

"You'll need help carrying his heavy ass." Big Johnson half-joked. Helping them place Marcus on the stretcher with surprising gentleness.

Marcus surprised them by smirking. "Who you c-calling heavy?"

They loaded him into the back of the transport where the stretcher where safety straps were stretched across his upper torso and thighs to avoid him bouncing about too much as they drove over rocky terrain.

"Hey man, you get the Scot to fix you up real quick so you can get back here and kick some more metal butt." Gustav called.

Marcus nodded tiredly, eyeing Barnes, in goodbye.

"Y'all get him back to the base asap. Or Connor will personally come rip each of you a new one." He told evac team.

"Aye, sir, Major Barnes." The younger soldier gave him a frightened salute.

Barnes frowned at him. He wasn't quite used to inspiring that level of fear in the men, but maybe the mention of Connor had freaked him.

He watched them drive off, wending their way through the copse of pines that lead them in the direction of the temporary base, a few miles out, where Connor had sent up his Field Command Centre. He hoped Goodwin would be as good at getting rid of a virus as he seemed to be with everything Skynet related. Barnes didn't want to think what losing a guy like Marcus would do to them – to members of John's Team who'd come to like Wright, and to the Resistance who desperately needed someone with a machine's abilities on their side.

* * *

Marcus had been content to let himself drift off as the transport vehicle juddered along the side of the mountain on its way back to base camp.

He hadn't bothered paying much attention to the two soldiers who sat on either side of him. So when they came to halt he waited expectantly for them up get up and carry him out.

Instead they looked out of back of the truck, one with his weapon out, scanning their surrounding for enemy fire, the other talking quietly on his radio.

"...Yeah, we have him," Was all he caught of the one-sided conversation.

He was about to ask what was going on, when he caught the sound of cruching gravel as someone approached the vehicle, and the two soldiers made room for him to get in.

"Good job, men." Daniel Paredo clutched a hand at both their shoulders.

Marcus swallowed nervously, a new fear catching the breath in his throat.

Lieutenant Paredo, crouched over Marcus, looking down at him with cold hard eyes. "I thought you might pull something like this, so I had my boys keep an eye out for any reports on you – to make sure you made your way back to me."

"I'm not ... I'm not trying to get out of anything ..." Except the safety straps that he began to struggle against.

Paredo slammed Marcus across the face his side-arm.

"So like a machine – no sense of justice or retribution. Crime and punishment – that's what this is – but what would a machine know about that?!"

"It's not... it's a virus.." Marcus struggled to verbalise what was wrong with him, distracted now by the very wrong feeling of pins and needles that was spreading across his face where the punched had landed.

"Please, you have to get me to Goodwin. Something's wrong, I can't..."

"Enough!" Paredo growled.

This time the punch to the head left him severely dazed, but it was the subsequent rifle butt to the temple that made him black out.

* * *

TBC

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Beware, it gets particularly gruesome for our hero in this chapter

Chapter 4

Marcus knew that there was something very wrong with him when he began to see words scrolling before his eyes, providing him with system-wide status updates.

Different part of the body were showing figures – operating levels, he realised – some down to low 20s – the virus making it impossible for him to move or fight back as he was lifted out of the transport and dragged along in the dirt.

He was pulled through the doorway of stone structure but the tree-filled skyline was still visible and it took him a while to see through his system information to take in his new surroundings. They had brought him to the remains of a bombed-out stone building somewhere in the middle of a forest so dense he couldn't see the sky.

He was still strapped to the stretcher as they dumped him to the ground. His limbs shifted against the restraints, not all movements he'd instigated as his arms and legs were still glitching like mad, but nowhere near strong enough to break free.

Paredo hunkered down beside him, looking him over with the unbridled excitement of a child with a new toy.

"Hey, didn't you say he had machine parts for a hand?" The slightly younger soldier from the Evac team asked innocently.

"I did, indeed." Paredo stepped over to Marcus's left side, peering down at his left hand.

He grabbed Marcus's wrist in a tight hold, that he might have been able to break free of, had his hand not been twitching with a virus-induced palsy.

"Hiding your true self behind fake skins isn't going to help you, Killer." Paredo drawled. "Give me your knife, Private."

The young soldier swiftly withdrew a hunting knife from his boot and handed it over to the senior officer.

Marcus tried to pull away, not liking where this was going, but found Paredo's grip unbreakable, and strapped down as he was there was nowhere for him to go.

Lieutenant Paredo was obviously a trained soldier before the war with the machines began, but the way he slid the knife so efficiently through the skin of Marcus's arm, from inside his elbow, through his palm and down to the tip of his middle finger, indicated some prior skill at skinning animals.

Marcus yelled and gagged ineffectively as Paredo cut him then reached inside the incision and pulled out a bloodied metal forearm.

"Ugh, no!" Marcus grunted, wanting to look away but his eyes were glued to the horrifying sight of his skin being pulled off his fingers like a meaty glove. If seeing his bare metal hand had bothered him before, seeing his whole arm uncovered, glistening with his synthetic blood, made him feel sick and light-headed.

"See, boys." Paredo rattled the unresisting metal fingers at his fellows. "Just a machine under a human-looking cover."

Marcus struggled against his bonds trying desperately to wrist his metal wrist out of Paredo's grip. Paredo just glares down at him, dropping the knife to take hold of Marcus's arm with both hands. He twists it like he's giving a Chinese burn and Marcus yells as though that's what he feels but the metal bars that represent his bones grind ominously together. Paredo's grin widens and he begins to twist the arms against the elbow joint forcing into an unnatural bend, taxing the joint until it sparks.

"Don't.." Marcus yells, feeling the phantom pain of his arm being broken.

Paredo then braces his boot against Marcus's upper arm and pulls with renewed strength until wires servos that replace muscle and sinews begin to tear. More sparks fly and Marcus cries out in anguish as the limbs is ripped completely clear of his body.

He pants, breath heaving in his chest as he watches Paredo swing his amputated forearm around his head as the other men laughed and cheer.

"You ... fucking ... psycho." He pants, he face drenches in sweat and tears.

"Shut up, you fucking machine!" One of the men stepped forward and landed a solid kick to Marcus's side. The two others grinned and took the opportunity to land a few bruising kicks of their own.

Marcus didn't feel much, in his extremities at this point so keep his focus on Paredo, fearful of what he might do next.

"K-killing me won't bring your b-brother back." Marcus gravelled. "If I was ...really the enemy your b-brother w-wouldn't be in a coma, he'd be dead. When it ... came down to it ... he couldn't make a kill-shot and any other ... other machine would have ripped his head off – he left himself that open."

The kicks had stopped as the other looked to Paredo for reaction. Marcus took as steadying breath and continued, ignoring the weak breathy quality he voice was taking on. "If I was really working for S-skynet they'd all be dead, your brother, Carcetti, the whole team that went into the watchtower. In fact ... John Connor would have died ...two months ago in San Francisco."

He looked around, trying to catch the eyes of the other soldiers. "If you don't trust me, at least trust John. He wouldn't have brought me along ... if he wasn't certain I could be trusted, he hates machines more than anyone."

Paredo tilted his head thoughtfully and for a moment Marcus thought he might have gotten through to him.

"I think I like machines better when they don't talk."

With Marcus's responses slowed, the knife was in him before he could react. He felt it plunge through his throat, right into the voice-box, sending sparks flying and all Marcus could do was issue a wet gurgle of suppressed sound.

He felt a hot sticky fluid bubble out of his throat and down his neck. The knife was twisted as Paredo slowly eased it out, more sparks crackling damply as Marcus tried to swallow around it.

He attempted to speak and the men chuckled at the distorted mechanical sound that came forth.

"N-not... n-no..." He grunted, panicking, and trying instinctively to bring his remaining hand up to his throat to stem the blood flow, but the strap across his chest prevented them from getting much further than his shoulder.

"Stupid machine." The driver grinned. "Y'ain't gonna die from having your throat cut!"

Marcus closed his eyes, knowing this was true but feeling the blood still dripping down his neck made it hard to believe.

They were talking above him, probably wondering what new torture to inflict on him next, but Marcus was too caught up his deteriorating condition.

The status updates he'd been ignoring were now becoming more insistent as he was informed that internal lubricants were reaching dangerously low levels halting any self-healing abilities he had. He might not die of blood lose but with his body being ravaged by the virus he didn't need additional injuries to contend with.

He opened his eyes, seeking out the sky. Somewhere up there was Blair, flying her beloved A-10 into battle, not knowing her lover was dying slowing on the forest bed below her.

His sight glitched suddenly, he lost visual for a moment but it flickered back on line. Only this time he was seeing through a wash of red.

"Fuck," One of the soldiers swore as Marcus blinked, trying desperately to get rid of the redness that filtered over his sight.

Paredo and the other soldier were suddenly bending over him.

"What's wrong his eyes? Weren't they blue before?"

Paredo sneered down at Marcus. "Guess you're done hiding, eh? Showing us your true colours, right?" He grinned manically.

Marcus gave a gurgled protest as the knife was produced again. "N-no-o...!"

"I like a bit of literal justice." Paredo commented, angling the tip of his blade directly into Marcus's eye-line. "Eye for an eye, make a good souvenir." With a professional hand, Paredo eased the knife into Marcus's left eye socket.

Marcus thrashed weakly in his bonds, and the other soldier, grabbed him, holding him down, two hands kept his head still. He tried to cry out but all that was heard was an echoey glitching sound.

He wished now that the machine had come before they left the mountain base, that Barnes might have been forced to kill him, rather than let him be captured. He wished that one of Gustav's grenades might have hit him squarely in the chest and blown him to kingdom come, rather than endure this slow and agonising dismantling by a maniac. He felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, having its limbs torn off with pincers to the sound of laughing kids.

He'd wished for his end before, but never quite so fiercely as this.

* * *

The Control room in any resistance base was a heated and noisy environment on any given day. As John's command team scrambled to deal with a chaotic battle currently taking place a few hundred miles north he marvelled at the level of focus his team were exhibiting. There was some shouting and certainly stress levels were high, but what he didn't appreciate was the confidence he inspired in others with his perfectly controlled presence.

Perry had joked that he seemed to take even the most bloody and chaotic encounters as everyday events. What John had failed to tell him was that he had this drilled into him since childhood. Anything less than complete focus in combat scenarios would not have been tolerated by his mother.

He'd been banking just a little too much on Marcus being able to disable to terminators, in particular the HKs. But they would have to get through it as best they could. Whatever concern he felt for Marcus being infected with a virus, and he was genuinely concerned, had been pushed to the back of his mind. When there was time he would look for an update, but for now there was too much to be done.

So it was something of a surprise when Goodwin made contact.

"What's the ETA on that med evac?" His brogue asked across the radio.

"Barnes reported the evac team's departure nearly an hour ago." Jacob, the comms guy, was replying.

This grabbed John's attention. "They should be back by now. Radio them, get their location."

Jacob went about calling the evac team.

John waited impatiently behind him, as they were answered with only static.

"Does their transport have a beacon?"

"Should do." Jacob rolled his chair over to the neighbouring terminal, pulling up a display of different Resistance transports across the battlefield. "I'm not seeing their signal." He muttered.

"Could they have been attacked?" Perry asked coming up alongside John.

"They would have radio'd in if they were under fire." Jacob shrugged. He pulled up a separate window containing as text log of transport beacon signals. "Their last location was ... hmmm, about a mile in the wrong direction. Then they disappeared."

"That's near the cavalry's holding site." Perry observed, pointing to the map on the screen. "They haven't reported any enemy fire in the last hour."

Perry looked to John who hadn't spoken for a while, but stood staring at the map. After a moment he touched his headset. "Goodwin, you still there?"

"Copy that." Goodwin replied. "I'm here."

"Marcus's transport has gone missing. I'm sending out a search and rescue team. I want you to go with them."

"Will do."

"Goodwin, be advised Marcus may not be..." He struggled to come up with an adequate description. "He may have been compromised. He was infected with some kind of virus when he was accessing the systems inside Cheyenne."

"Oh, hell."

"Yeah, just ... be careful."

"Aye, Goodwin out."

John turned back to Perry. "Talk to the Cavalry, see if anyone saw the transport, and if anyone's missing."

"Excuse me, sir." A nervous looking comms guy was raising his hand, like a kid about to ask to go to the bathroom.

"What?"

"You mentioned people being missing... well I'm having trouble raising Lieutenant Paredo too."

"What?"

"I was supposed to keep him updated on the position of Major Barnes's team. But he hasn't answered my calls in nearly 20 minutes."

"What do you mean you were updating him? Who told you to do that?" John demanded.

The kid was startled at the sharp tone. "He did, sir. He said his strike team were supposed to go in after Barnes and Wright completed their mission. 'Said I should let him know the minute they were done."

"Fuck." John braced his hand over his forehead.

"Stupid sonofabitch." Perry cursed beside him. He turned quickly to John. "He's my man, Connor. I should have seen this coming. I'll go with the search and rescue. Maybe I can talk some sense into him before he does something we'll all regret."

John nodded mutely. He was somewhat surprised that Perry was so quick to think Paredo was behind this as opposed to assuming Marcus had gone out of control and gone after Paredo himself.

"Perry." John called after him before he left. John joined him at the doorway, keeping his voice low enough that he wouldn't be overheard. "Even if Marcus is compromised, he may react like a man." He told Perry, given him a meaningful look.

Perry nodded his understanding. "Or like a wounded animal driven into a corner."

"Yes, and if at all possible I would ask that he be sedated and brought back here alive."

"No killshots, I get it."

John let him go, wishing in some way that he could be the one to run out the door and lead this mission himself, but those days were over for him. He would have to rely on Perry and Goodwin for this one.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note: Thanks as always to those who reviewed. It's fueled me for at least another chapter of angst

* * *

Chapter 5

Marcus was finding it difficult to concentrate, but then again there was little about being tied down and mutilated that he wanted to be aware of. The virus was spreading through his systems in much the same way a virus would strike down a human's. The only difference being that he was seeing a scrolling status update on all the damage that was inflicted on him – internally and externally.

His sight wasn't the only thing failing him. Sounds around him were distorted, like listening to faulty speakers, it crackled and hissed. And his sense of touch was flickering too, between hypersensitivity around the torn skin of his amputated arm or at his throat, and complete numbness in his legs and chest.

He was fading fast - systems failing, no longer able to lift his chest enough to stimulate breathing, only seeing through one eye now, and only in red. A worrying headache had begun to throb behind his forehead. A thoroughly human sensation that made him wonder what might happen to his organic brain if whatever system was preserving it suddenly stopped working. He had kept his head turned to the left to avoid getting sight of his mangled stump, or the severed metal arm, discarded in the corner beyond him. He couldn't bear to think about that, the gruesome sight or the chilling reality of being permanently crippled. More than the eye or the damaged voice, losing an arm, losing his ability to fend for himself was the most painful injury of all.

Paredo and others still hovered in and out of his limited red-tinted sight. He wanted to shout at them that Connor would have their balls for this, that they were no better than the machines - but his voice was too ruined to make any sense.

He still felt a tacky wetness flowing from his throat. It could be that the virus was affecting his ability to coagulate or stem the blood flow, but it was one of the few sensations left to him.

His body was a bloodied mess from where Paredo had gotten handy with his knife as well as a smattering of bullet wounds from when his minions decided to waste some ammo on him. There's a lot of blood, more than he thought his machine body was capable of producing. It coats Paredo's hands, and there's blood splatter sprayed across the driver's face. At least Marcus thinks it's blood, but it's hard to tell now that he's seeing through red lenses. It could be mud, or maybe oil. Maybe when they cut his chest open all they found was mechanics oil or black crude oil – that would make sense for a machine.

Marcus is beginning to wonder if maybe Paredo's not a butcher, maybe he's just a mechanic, his hand black from grease and engine oil.

Paredo had been talking for quite a while since he'd prized Marcus's eye from its socket. Marcus couldn't or wouldn't hear him, but Paredo made sure to sit on his right side so Marcus could see as he tossed the metal eyeball up and down like marble.

He let his head roll weakly to the side, limiting his view to the forest floor beyond him. It was covered with soft mud and bits of bark. Some plants had broken through the stone structure around him, overtaking part of the wall and covering it in moss and ivy. Even as the war between man and machine raged not far from here, nature had a way of showing its own manner of resistance, overcoming the destructive work of both warring parties.

Marcus wondered if his body would be left here, on this forest bed to slowly become overgrown with plant-life. Like he'd seen in those nature documentaries, he imagined the creeping growth crawling speedily up his deadened form. In his mind it was a bright and vivacious green, covering his inert body with wild and healthy vegetation. It wasn't such a bad end, he thought, to become part of the lush forest scenery. He was unlikely to decompose like a normal human, but he hoped somehow that his metal and chemical parts wouldn't poison the earth as he feared it might.

Paredo was kneeling beside him. Marcus didn't really care what he was doing now as he barely had any feeling left in his body. There wasn't much more for Paredo to do him but to somehow finish him off, whether by cutting out his brain, or disconnecting his power source. Marcus hoped he might get to that soon. He wanted to stop thinking about Blair, hoping she would never find his dead, moss-covered body. He wanted to stop thinking about her finding his mutilated corpse, his machine parts all exposed, his skin stripped or rotted away. We wanted this humiliation to end once and for all. He'd faced death too often now for it not to be fulfilled at last.

The impatience turned to annoyance then as he saw movement off in the distance. Some part of him wanted to speak up and tell Paredo to hurry up as someone was coming and he might not have time to finish the job if he didn't get on with it.

But the intruders were already upon them.

From a distance Colonel Perry had his sight on ruins of an old stone building. He could make out two men standing inside, looking down at something on the floor, a third appeared then, taking a swig from a canteen and leaning casually against rubble. They'd been ID'd as the evac team sent to pick up Wright. Men who'd been known to socialise with Paredo, though one was considerably younger that the others, a recently recruited private, and Perry felt a stab of regret that someone so young had gotten caught up in this.

* * *

Perry's search and rescue team made their way silently towards the structure from a number of angles, stepping through ferns and other plantlife covering the forest floor with weapons pointed and all focus directly at the men they been instructed to find. Perry followed them, wordlessly indicating for Goodwin to stay back until they had the situation under control.

Perry had been on stealth rescue missions back in the day, had even run a black op just before Judgement Day where his team had been dropped into Columbian Jungle to rescue some hostages, but he'd never had to rescue someone from his own men.

Through his scope he could see Lieutenant Paredo sitting at Marcus's side, a bloodied hunting knife held in one hand, his other hand peeling skin back from his victim's chest like he was skinning a fish. Whatever Perry had thought Paredo might do to Wright if he was given the chance, he would never have envisaged this level of horror.

As they got closed, he heard one of Paredo's companions comment. "What's that in his chest?"

Paredo had bent over to take a closer look so his head was turned away as Perry's men entered. "It looks like..."

Paredo's men gasped in surprised as Perry's team got each of them under gun point. Like good soldiers they froze on demands, raising their hands to their heads. Even if they were brazen enough to put up a fight they were obviously outnumbered and wisely made no move to defend themselves.

Paredo was startled into action at the sudden intrusion. "Colonel Perry, Sir." He leapt to his feet, knife still in his hand, wild eyes casting about at the team of soldiers who were already subduing and cuffing his own men.

This seemed to set him off. "But.. but sir, I'm not done.."

"Oh but you are." Perry growled, as he stepped closer. He could see know the bloodied mess of Marcus's exposed metal chest plates, the metal arm, the empty eye socket, the jagged throat wound, and Marcus's single red-tinted eye blinking tiredly up at him.

"I had every right..!" Paredo insisted, pointing the knife indignantly.

"You need help, Daniel." Perry swallowed. "You've done a very sick thing here, and you need help."

"I was just getting what you or Connor wouldn't give me – Justice!" Again Paredo waved his knife, ignoring the guns Perry's men were pointing directly at him.

"This isn't justice, Daniel. It's just ... barbaric."

Paredo went wild at this. "He's just a machine, he doesn't feel anything!" He laughed, shaking his head then smirked. "You should try it, he won't complain or anything."

Perry swallowed back bile. "Probably because you sliced his throat open."

Daniel Paredo has always been an ambition young man - Perry had seen that in him straight away and encouraged it. The soldier had always shown adoring deference to Perry, and the Colonel had to admit he enjoyed it, played up his role as wise old mentor. So it was something of a shock to him to see the otherwise respectful man turn a cold snarl on him now.

"He deserves it." Paredo gave Marcus a solid kick to the side. "He has to pay for what they did, what the machine did to everyone, and to Alex." The name of the younger brother came out a little more than a desolate sob.

"This isn't what we do, Daniel. This isn't what Connor wants."

"Connor can go to hell." Paredo's hand tightened around the knife he still held, his wild eyes darting from Wright to Perry to the soldier than surrounded him, some getting awful twitchy as his words against Connor.

Perry had seen men go mad from combat before. Iraq had damaged many a good soldier, as Vietnam had in the past. But in those days they had army psychiatrist and therapists they could send the unhinged ones to. Now he didn't think there was a therapist left alive. So there was only one cure for Daniel Paredo.

Perry shouldered his rifle and took out his side-arm instead. "I'm sorry, Daniel." One quick shot to Daniel Paredo's forehead was the best cure for him. He went down with an expression of surprise, collapsing bonelessly to the ground next to his victim.

The Colonel directed his men to take the others who were now restrained and shell shocked back to the base. He called to Goodwin once the body had been taken away.

Goodwin stands over Marcus Wright looking flustered.

"I don't – I don't know where to start..." He dropped to his knees, his hand hovering over the open chest, and missing arm.

"This is bad," Goodwin commented. "We need to get him back to base right away."

He fumbled with the straps that held Wright down, and one of Perry's men goes to his side to help. Marcus seemed to gathers enough strength and coordination to touch the nearest hand. The young corporal startled, on the other side of him his colleague raised his rifles pointing it straight at Marcus.

The open wound at Marcus's' throat gaped as he struggled to make a coherent sound, but when Perry heard it he knew what he was trying to say. "K-kill me."

"What did he say?" The young corporal asked, horrified

Goodwin was by Marcus's head, and laid a hand on his forehead. "There's no need for that. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

Marcus squeezed his one eye shut, looking hurt and upset that he wasn't getting what he wanted.

Perry had seen men react this way before. Debilitating injuries were difficult for any soldier to live with, not to mention the psychological scars of being tortured, but in a time when healthcare was at its most crude, there was little for any man to live for it they were crippled. Marcus had been mutilated almost to the point of being unrecognisable, no wonder he was asking to be put out of his misery, but Colonel Perry had orders of his own to follow, and remembered Connor's words before he headed out.

"Better sedate him for the journey back." He told Goodwin.

In a matter of seconds Marcus's single working eye had fluttered closed, and Goodwin busied himself preparing to move him, gently easing the folds of skin back over his chest.

Goodwin got two of Perry's men to lift the stretcher and they began to make their way back the way they came. Goodwin bent shakily to pick up the remains of terminator arm, thrown carelessly into a nearby corner. He held it gingerly, as it were a human arm, and with one bleak look in Perry's direction he followed the others back to their transport.

Perry lingers behind. He has a strange urge to try and burn this place to the ground, but looking at the crumbling scorched remains he realises that if Skynet couldn't do it, he'll do no better.

He looks at his feet. There's fresh blood glistening in the mud - Paredo's blood. Blood he spilled. He'd thought he would never have to kill another human, but war, any war, had ways of proving man wrong in whatever beliefs they held close. He'd also never thought he'd end up defending a machine. But what he'd seen lying blood spattered in the dirt, was a dying man, pleading to be shown some mercy.

He looked at his boots, his feet were cold inside them, and he felt the cold right through his body. It was time to get back to base, to get back to the stuffy control room and start winning this war.

He was about to leave when noticed something else in the mud. He reached down and plucked the item from the crimson stained mud, and rolled it between his fingers. An eyeball - a weighty metal eyeball, with a human looking iris, and he could see it was speckled with a blue tint, even though no light shone through it.

He wiped it clean of the mud and pocketed it safely in his jacket. That other one red eye would haunt him now, distorting his usual nightmares of machines.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the delay in getting this last chapter out. Admittedly since seeing the film back in June some of the steam has gone out of the fandom and and my own interest in it. But I like to see things finished. I won't say that this is the last story I'll ever write on the subject but it's hard to keep going with something when your interest wanes and your muse is off doing more interesting projects (won't mock the blue alien thing til I see the movie!) I like to think I made a good attempt. I can proudly say i'm one of the few who started stories and got around to finishing them, and I'd like to encourage anyone who's been reading this series and has an idea for a drabble or an epic to give it a try and give us all more to read about our favourite character.

Chapter 6

Marcus wakes to redness again.

It takes him a while to collect himself. There's a strange heaviness in his mind, like a headache that has just begun to fade. It takes him a while to orientate himself but when he's feeling more alert he begins to take notice of what's around him.

He's lying on his back, his head is turned to the right and he's looking directly out at a blank grey wall with some crates stacked up against it.

When he tries to move his head he feels a slight tug the back of his skull, and it slowly dawns on him that he has something plugged into the back of his head.

He tried to move his hand up behind him but it doesn't respond and he recoils as he remembers what happened to it. He tries instead to slowly reach his other arm around to the back of his head.

"Ah-ah, don't touch that!" A voice is shouting behind him then his hand is grabbed and placed at his side. A hand is on his face then, holding his head still.

"Please don't move your head I don't want the cable popping out." The accent takes him a while to decipher but slowly he realises who is speaking to him.

"G-d..in." His voice crackles, sounding hollow and mechanical, and he wants to flinch away from the sound of it too.

Goodwin moves around to face him, sitting down in front of him.

"Hallo there." He gives Marcus a small smile, adjusting his glasses and tilting his head to align his sight with Marcus.

"I had to plug you back in so I could get rid of this virus. It was a right bugger let me tell you, we're lucky we found you when we did, otherwise..." He leaves the rest unsaid.

"H-ow lo-ng?" He asks huskily.

"How long...? Oh, how long were you out? It's been about a day and a half since we brought you back." Goodwin rubs at his temple, looking too exhausted to even think about it.

"Anyway, I think I've got rid of most of it but I'm going to have to reset you to be absolutely sure."

Marcus takes a big gulp of air not liking the sound of that. Before he has the chance to make some ineffectual sounds Goodwin goes on.

"I know what you're thinking but actually it should be fine. On and off, just like before. You'll black out and when you come back you'll be thinking a lot clearer, I imagine."

Marcus nods tiredly, not liking it but not having much of choice. He swallows which makes a revoltingly wet sound in his throat and remembers the feeling of Lieutenant Paredo stabbing him slowly with a hunting knife.

He brings a shaky finger up to his throat, and just points, not bothering to attempt speech, given his previous results.

"What? Your voice?"

He just stares at Goodwin's red-tinted face with his one semi-functional eye.

"I'll see what I can, but I'm not making any promise, lad. He made a right fucking mess of it, and I..." He sighed tiredly. "I'll take a look at it when we've done this."

He gets up, and moves his hand over to Marcus's shoulder. It hovers there in a moment's hesitation then gives him a supportive squeeze.

From the other side of the room, Marcus hears Goodwin typing on a keyboard. "Alright, commencing reset."

Marcus holds his breath for second, and then everything goes dark.

* * *

John Connor was bone tired and dying to crawl into bed but he needed to assure himself that Marcus was alright. Colonel Perry had returned to command white-faced and quiet, apologising to Connor for the barbarism of his own men. He informed him that Sergeant Paredo was dead, the others were in the brig and Wright was with Goodwin but wasn't in great shape. There hadn't been much time to get the full details but the word barbarism had painted enough images in John's imagination that he was anxious to see what state Marcus was in.

Once Connor got the chance he made his way to the tech lab where Goodwin was working.

He heaved a slight sigh of relief to see Marcus sitting up in a chair, a heavy cable attached to the back of his bowed head and well as various leads suction-cupped to his bare chest and temples. The chest had been hastily sewn up with thick black stitching and was still splashed with dark dry blood and dirt.

One hand was sitting loosely in his lap, and John could see only the flap of skin on his right side hanging loosely like a torn sleeve where the arm had been cut away.

There was a thick padding of gauze at his throat and some blood was already beginning to stain it.

One eyelid was squeezed shut, the other downcast. When John stepped closer, Marcus looked up and pinned him with a bright red glare that caught John's breath, the other eye was completely hollow.

Marcus gasped as well, frowning at John, squinting, and then blinking, and rapidly looking away.

"What is it?" Goodwin asked, noticing Marcus's reaction, and somewhat startled by John's sudden appearance in his lab.

Marcus slowly moved his one-eyed gaze up from the floor to John's face and then flinched and looked away.

"What is it, what do you see?" John asked.

It took Marcus a moment to give an answer, and when he did it was in an alien and distinctly inhuman voice.

"It's some kind of facial recognition thing." He stared fixedly on the floor, his face awash with shame, whether from his answer or his voice, or both.

"Termination orders?" John offered, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Marcus briefly looked up at him in surprise then quickly looked away, nodding.

"Why am I seeing this, why is this in my head?!" He growled at Goodwin.

"It's probably a side-effect of the reset." Goodwin shrugged, rubbing his forehead.

"Well, get rid of it." Marcus hissed, still unwilling to look up.

"I'm trying!" Goodwin yelled back, getting testy. "There a million and one things to fix with you, I'm doing my best here!"

John was surprised at the outburst from the usually placid Scot but could see the exhaustion in his pale and drawn face, and the dark circles behind his thick rimmed glasses.

Marcus muttered an apology, and Goodwin went back to his computer.

"How are you, Marcus?" John asked.

Marcus didn't answer for a while then nodded his head in Goodwin's direction. "He needs sleep. You should order him back to his quarters."

John looked him over, recognising someone, not unlike himself, who didn't want to think about how he was, let alone talk about it.

"I thought you should know, we've been able to get a foothold in Cheyenne. Barnes is currently establishing control of the base and we're in the process of clearing out remaining machines." It felt good to be able to report that, to be able to say it aloud. They were winning, they were making progress and they were finally beating the machines.

A quiet 'Good' was all he got out of Marcus.

"We wouldn't have done it without you, Marcus. I want you to know that. This wouldn't have been possible if you hadn't been able to disable the security systems."

Marcus swallowed and bit his lips, clearly holding back something, his single eye still fixed on the floor beyond John.

"Say it, whatever it is, you can say it." He imagined the other man was angry over what had been done to him, whether by Skynet, or Sergeant Paredo and his men. If he needed to vent at John, he had no problem hearing it.

Marcus shook his head, keeping his lips tightly closed, a deep scowl etched into his stony features.

John didn't push him, he knew the other man was brooding over his fate and wasn't inclined to share with the resistance leader, given how frequently they were at odds. John only hoped that what had happened to him wouldn't turn him against humans. He suspected he needed to get Blair in here as soon as possible – partially to sooth his injured asset, but also because John thought he needed to be reminded of why he had sided with them in the first place.

"Were you able to get rid of the virus?" John asked Goodwin who stood behind Marcus at his console.

Goodwin nodded. "Thankfully the nature of this virus wasn't to corrupt all his data, it was just trying to take functional control away from him without causing permanent damage – presumably so they could retrieve and re-programme him."

There's an air of relief about the way Goodwin tells him this, but Marcus looks distinctly uncomfortable at the mention of reprogramming. That was what they wanted with him. They wanted to take him and strip away who he was – to turn him into a better machine, a better instrument in their war against the human race, and presumably use what he'd learnt about the resistance against them.

"I've been able to use details from the initial scans I took back when I first arrived to re-establish connections but there's still a raft of tests I'd like do before I'm certain he's back in top form – not to mention the extensive repairs he needs." Goodwin made it sound like he was asking permission for something, and Connor reminded himself that the Scot was a much sharper man than he gave often him credit for.

Connor ponders this, shifting stiffly from foot to foot, and decided it was time to cut to the chase. "You're certain the virus hasn't compromised him?"

"Well, yes, the malware's completely gone but the damage it did to his motor functions and …"

"As long as he doesn't present a risk to this base I'm afraid the repairs will have to wait. Our priority is to establish control of Cheyenne Mountain and there are still plenty of systems that we still need to re-work and re-fit to our needs. I need you working on that right away."

Marcus seemed to suddenly realise the underlying conversation that was going on over his head, and looked up at Connor sharply, a mix of emotions playing over his blood splattered face.

"Listen, Connor, he needs..." Goodwin began, getting annoyed.

John cut him off, having no taste for further discussion on the matter. "I'm sorry, Marcus I know this isn't…"

"You should just turn me off." Marcus spoke quietly cutting then both off.

"What?"

"Turn me off and put me in a box or something until he has time to fix me."

"We're not going to just box you…" Goodwin spluttered in disbelief but Marcus kept his eyes trained on Connor.

"It was different before when I could move around like I was human, but it's pretty obvious now that I'm … not." He swallowed, looking down at himself, at the stitching in chest and the vacant arm. His hollow voice echoed around the lab. "Just turn me off. Turn me off until I'm fixed."

John found that when it came to Marcus he had to constantly remind himself to be pragmatic and objective in his decision making. More so than with any of his men, he found it harder not to react emotionally when it came to the machine. There was something he instinctively disliked about turning Marcus off, but he had to consider it from an objective perspective.

Marcus gave his armless shoulder a shrug. "I didn't think it would be possible for me to look any more like a machine in a man's skin than I did at the river after you _napalmed_ me. And yet here I am."

There was something in his grim humour that didn't sit well with John. "What they did to you was wrong."

"Come on, Connor. We both know I'm just a machine under all this..." He picked at the empty skin of his arm. "That's what you're in this war for - to destroy machines like me."

He couldn't argue with that.

"You're not seriously considering turning him off, and storing him away until it suits you?" Goodwin protested, coming around Marcus to face off to John. "You're really going to treat him like that after what he's been through?"

Marcus turned his ire on the scientist. "You're the one who figured out it could be done!"

Goodwin shook his head, a slight blush colouring his cheeks. "That doesn't mean it should be treated lightly."

Connor regarded the scientist coldly. "Finish your tests, and whatever repairs you feels necessary but there's a transport taking you out to the Mountain at oh-nine hundred, and you _will_ be on it."

With that John marched out of the lab. He didn't think turning the other man off like a light was something he wanted to do unless there was a risk to the base, but he needed space to consider it rationally, and looking at Marcus's pained and broken expression wasn't going to help.

* * *

Marcus hadn't wanted her to see him like this but it was inevitable that Blair would arrive back and be told where to find him.

In the hours since Connor left them, Goodwin has been able to restore the sight in his right eye to full colour and Marcus himself has managed to will away the text of facial recognition, status updates and other Skynet instructions from his vision. Unhindered he can now see the deep dark brown of eyes are tear-filled and as she blinks the saltwater runs down her tanned and grimy cheeks, leaving tracks in her crimson war paint that run to her jaw line. She's almost hesitant to lay a hand on him, and he cringes when she does, genuinely saddened to see this reaction in her.

"Oh, Marcus." She whispers wetly.

Goodwin mutters something about giving them some room and they found themselves alone in heavy silence before long.

"How could they do this to you?!" She lifts a hand to trace a finger across his brow over the empty eye socket, crying softly all the while.

"Blair," He croaks, his voice still sound hollow and robotic-sounding but at least he's able to form words. "Blair, don't." He's not sure exactly what he's asking for but he doesn't want her falling apart on him, and the tears are only making him uncomfortable.

She seems to sense this, and begin to swipe at her eyes, with the hem of her sleeve. She takes deep though shaky breathes before she seems able to form speak, but he was heartened by what she finally says.

"Why don't we get you cleaned up."

Before Marcus can attempt a response she had disappeared, and shortly retrieved a basin of water and a sponge from somewhere.

"How does a sponge bath sound?"

It sounds amazing to him, but he's still nervous about her seeing the extent of the damage currently hidden by the long sleeved shirt Goodwin had kindly fetched him.

Again she seems to know what he's thinking, and shows some of the hesitance he feels.

"If you don't want to ..."

"I do, I just.." He shifts awkwardly in his chair, suddenly feeling the absence of his right arm throwing him off balance despite the fact that he's still sitting down. He sighs, tired of this deep shame that aches in his chest beneath the rough shod stitches that hold his skin together like patchwork.

"I wish you didn't have to see..." He shrugged, unable to meet her eyes.

"I get it, it's not pretty. Connor warned me..." She straightens her shoulders, looking resolved. "I can take it, Marcus. You're alive that's all that matters to me."

He swallows back the denial that taste like bile it's so coated in self disgust.

She helps him out of his shirt, easing it over his shoulder. Her face is carefully schooled as she lays eyes on the long sown-up wound running down his chest and then sees the mutilated stump for the first time.

True to her word she seems unaffected and goes about washing the grime from his torso.

He sits passively as she does this, unconsciously keeping his head slightly turned to the left every time she looks up to avoid her gaze on his empty eye socket.

Despite himself he feels inclined to lighten the mood. "So, do you think you could rustle me up an eye patch?"

She smirks. "Do you promise not to start talking like a pirate?"

"No." He chuckles.

She swats him on the nose with the wet sponge.

"Oy!" He grabs her around the waist pulling her close and rubs his wet nose against her collarbone with a playful growl. When he doesn't immediately pull away she nuzzles closer. It's such a instinctive reaction for both of them, playing and embracing, that he does it without thinking, without realising that he's reaching out with an arm that's no longer attached to him.

He had been so close to never seeing her again, so close to never feeling like this, and he couldn't forget that only a short time ago he'd been asking Connor to switch him off, potentially for good, and was ashamed to think how that might hurt her.

He didn't want Blair to see him like this – he wanted to turn away from her, but he couldn't. He needed her, he needed to touch her and be touched by her because he knew that if he didn't, he would never feel human again.

Her hands stroked the back of his head and neck, as she held him close to her breast.

"I can't believe I nearly lost you." She murmured. It wasn't often that Blair let herself seem vulnerable but the helplessness in her voice was unmistakable, and it pained Marcus to have to add it.

He pulled away to look up at her, squinting his empty eye socket closed.

"Blair, Connor needs to send Goodwin to Cheyenne."

She frowned but said nothing, letting him continue.

"I ..." He steeled himself, it was hard for him to admit defeat and that was exactly how he felt – defeated. "I told him he should turn me off until Goodwin has time to finish my repairs."

Her mouth gaped, eyes blazing. "What?"

"It's for the best..."

"You want him to switch you off?! Are you... how can you....?" She shook her head in disbelief. "How you can you even suggest that?"

"Blair, I'm not ... it would just be temporary, until Goodwin has time to..."

"He could be months sorting through the systems in Cheyenne. But that's not the point." She chewed on her lips, her cheeks blushing in anger. "You _want_ him to turn you _off_." She repeated slowly.

"Blair, look at me, I'm in fucking pieces." His voice broke as he shrugged his empty shoulder at her. "I'm not going to be able to walk around the base looking like this."

"But, Marcus..."

"No, Blair it's for the best." He told her more firmly.

"I can't believe you. I can't believe you would suggest this." She backed away from him, shaking her head. "There has to be another way."

"There isn't." He was getting tired of this. He just wanted it over with so he wouldn't have to look at her hurt expression, it would soon be time for Goodwin to leave and Connor would hopefully leave orders for him to be shut down. "Deal with it." He told her blankly.

She raised her chin defiantly. "I will deal with it." She walked towards the door then stopped, turning back to him.

"I get that they hurt you and made you feel like nothing, and you just want it all to finish so you don't have to deal with what you're feeling, but switching yourself is not the answer. This is not healthy for a person."

"You're right, but it's what you do with a broken machine."

She stiffened, pursing her lips, taking deliberately slow breaths. "I can put up with a lot of shit for being with you, but I do it …"

"I never asked you to _put up_ with anyway." He cut in.

"...But I do it because I know you're more than the things they say about you. That you're not just a machine pretending to be a man."

"Maybe you're wrong."

"I can't deal with you right now." She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "I've been in the air for 20 hours straight, and I was worried sick about you!"

Her tone turned icy. "I'm going to leave you to your wallowing because if I stay one of us will say something we'll regret."

She stormed off before he could say a word. She was right, he was wallowing in his defeat and degradation at the hands of Paredo and his men. It wasn't a feeling he was comfortable with and he ached for having upset her, but he just it over with. He wanted to black out like before and when up he was all fixed – just like he had at Skynet.

They'd been happy to use his unique machine abilities before – why couldn't they give him this small reprieve in return?

* * *

Some hours later in the Comms room, Connor was just coming back from his first sleep in days.

His comms man Jacob was obviously back on duty and beckoned him over.

"Sir, I've got Corporal Adams on the line, he says Doctor Goodwin hasn't shown up for his ride to Cheyenne."

"Goddamnit, Goodwin." Connor slammed a fist down on the table in front of him, earning the wide-eyes stare of his control team.

"You want me to go get him?" Perry asked calmly, making John feel a once of embarrassment for getting riled up so abruptly in front of an audience.

"No, I'll deal with this." Connor grumbled, and was already headed to the lab.

The scene he found was Goodwin trying to reattach the metal arm to a very agitated looking Marcus.

"Doctor Goodwin, I gave you a direct order...!" Connor barked.

"I just need a few more minutes to finish up here." Goodwin shot back.

"Doctor, you've had all the time you need. I told you before, there's work in Cheyenne that requires you're immediately attention."

"Let me just try this once more."

"You've tried it five times!" Marcus yelled, shrugged away from him. "Just leave it already and do what you're told!"

Goodwin slammed his tools down on the table beside him. "And I told you before I'm not going to just switch you off!"

"Connor, tell him..." Marcus glared up at him, and John was shocked at the desperation he saw there.

John slowly shook his head. "I don't think it's necessary to have you switched off, and there's a certain Air Force Captain who said she'd have my head if I tried it."

Marcus evidently didn't like that answer, dropping his head into his one hand.

"Look," Goodwin tried in a placating tone. "If you'd just sit still for a moment I might just be able to reattach this. It might not work but at least you'd have your balance back."

"Just get away from me!" Marcus pushed away from Goodwin stepping out of his chair. Goodwin had mentioned problems with his motor functions so it was no surprise when his leg immediately seized up, causing him to stumble against the nearest table. Unfortunately it toppled under his weight, spilling tools down as Marcus fell to his knees with the breathless grunt.

Goodwin and Connor hovered above him in indecision, as Marcus shifted around on his one arm trying to get his back against a solid surface.

"Fuck this." He gave the overturned table a frustrated kick. "Just turn me off!"

"Marcus, it's alright, we'll get you fixed up, there's no need for you to..." Goodwin tried to tell him.

"Turn me off!" He bellowed. "Look at me! I belong on the fucking scrap heap!" He heaved his jagged stump in the air, glaring through his one remaining eye.

"It was different before when I could pass for human, but walking around looking and sounding like a broken robot, I might as well have a fucking target painted on my back 'cos everyone who ever lost someone will be coming at me."

John suddenly recognised the fear was driving Marcus to this level of agitation. "You're worried about being attacked again."

"I can barely stand let alone defend myself." He huffed. "And Blair – if they come for Blair because of me ... I'll be useless!" He shouted.

"I'll make sure you're protected, I'll make sure they know not to go near you."

"Like you did with Paredo?" Marcus spat back, though the anger was half–hearted.

"I made a mistake, I'll admit that." John sighed, lowering himself to one knee to get at eye level with Marcus. "I didn't consider..."

"Make it up to me then – let me have this." Marcus looked wide-eyed and pleading at John.

"Marcus I..." John had been asked for mercy before. He'd been on battlefields, walked through the dying and the dead, and had been begged for a spare bullet or an ampoule of morphine to kill the pain of a wounded soldier. He also knew that this soldier wasn't even close to death, but still wanted an escape from the harsh reality of how he'd been left at the hands of his attackers. Marcus Wright was a machine created with a human brain, heart and personality and along with the damage done to his machine parts, his human part had been hurt too. Unfortunately for Marcus they would have to be healed in a human way.

Seeing John's doubtful expressions Marcus grabbed a fallen screwdriver and ripped his shirt open. He went to plunge the tool into his chest where his heart had once been and now housed a back-up power cell. His hand froze in front of his chest.

"Marcus, no!" Blair had appeared in the doorway and made to run towards him but Connor grabbed her, holding her back.

"You can't self-terminate." John told him quietly, earning a tortured sob from Marcus.

"Please don't do this." Blair pleaded, struggling weakly with Connor, tears spilling down her horrified face.

Marcus panted, looking frantically from John to Blair. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your programming won't let you self-terminate." John told him more slowly.

"Programming." Marcus sighed. He flung the screwdriver away with a noisy clatter, and banged his head back against the wall.

Blair took the opportunity to wrestle free of John and flung herself down in front of her despairing boyfriend. Without warning she struck him firmly and loudly with an open-handed slap across the cheek.

"Don't you fucking do that again!"

Marcus seemed genuinely chagrined for a moment before a familiar spark of anger sparked in his eye, like a glimmer of his old self.

"They fucking crippled me!" He couldn't help the sob that crept into his voice. He'd been dreading her arrival, hating for her to see him like this.

"I know you're angry about what happened," She carefully laid a hand on his shoulder – letting him see it coming with his one eye. "They made you feel helpless and broken but this isn't the answer." She levelled him with an unwavering gaze.

"Marcus," John came up behind Blair, keeping a respectful distance. "Listen to Blair. You fought so hard to be here with her, to be treated like a man – you can't go taking the easy way out now."

His words seemed to cut through the anguish, and Marcus blinked tiredly.

"He's right," Blair placed her hands on either side of his face. "If I mean anything to you, you won't give up on this so easily."

"You mean everything to me." Marcus replied in a desperate whisper.

"Then don't leave me!" She sobbed, in a display of emotion so raw Connor had never seen from his usually cool-headed captain, he stood up giving them some room.

Marcus pulled her close. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you I just..." He clung to her tightly, sighing into her neck. "I'm sorry."

John wondered if he shouldn't just leave them to it, he had more important things to deal with that the emotional lives of his team. He had a base to take over and he needed to get Goodwin up to Cheyenne. Thankfully Perry arrived just in time tell him the transport was still waiting for his orders.

"Goodwin." Connor called to him quietly.

Goodwin nodded, giving his face a tired scrub. He moved silently to the back of his lab where he John was grateful to see he had a bag already packed.

"I promise I'll be back, Marcus. I'll finish your repairs."

Marcus looked up at him from his place on the floor, he arm still wrapped around Blair. He nodded once in understanding.

Beside John, Perry stepped forward, his eyes on Marcus. "Son, I wanted to say..." The older Colonel swallowed. "I wanted to apologise for my men, for what they did to you, and for myself, for not treating you with the respect you deserve." Letting his words hang in the air he fished around in his jacket pocket, and slowly made his way over to stand over the couple.

He reached his hand out offering something to Marcus. Blair pulled away, looking up at the Colonel.

Marcus lifted his hand and Perry dropped something in his palm. "I believe this belongs to you."

John watched Marcus's reaction closely as he rolled the item between his fingers, and John saw now that it was his missing eyeball.

"Thanks." Marcus gravelled his voice wavering whether from the damage inflicted on it or the weight of emotion he felt.

John looked at his watch. Thinking through the list of items he had to deal with over the next few hours he made a quick decision.

"I have a little time this afternoon, I could probably put that back in for you."

Blair gave him a grateful smile. Marcus merely nodded, the fight and fury of earlier having left him looking a little drained.

The couple sat side by side now. Blair on Marcus's left – his armless shoulder hidden behind her. But for the jagged black stitching they looked like any human couple comforting each other in their time of need.

John wasn't sure how he would prevent Marcus from being attacked in the future, when he might be able to release Goodwin from duties in Cheyenne in order to continue Marcus's repair, or whether he himself would have the capacity to help out beyond re-installing an eyeball.

Marcus was an important asset to John, to his campaign against the machines, and might someday soon help him in the tasks he knew he would have to complete in order to win this war. Namely mastering time-travel – but also reprogramming a terminator to go back in time to protect his younger self. He tended to look at Marcus as a evolutionary step towards those goals but watching him sitting on the floor, damaged and hurting as bad as any man, his arm wrapped around the woman he claimed to love – a machine that knew love was disarming enough – John knew that he would have to learn to treat Marcus as more than just an asset or a stepping stone.

This was a man who'd been brutally injured by the humans he'd chosen to side with. He was a victim of abuse and would have to be shown the compassion and consideration he deserved if he was ever to overcome it. If John couldn't see this done, then there was little point in fighting for humanity - if they couldn't hold onto that which made them worthy of survival – himself included.

* * *

The End


End file.
